Dark Paradise

by Angie Sandro

  No, I need to be alone for a minute. “It’ll be faster if I go.”

  George’s doubtful expression makes it seem like he doesn’t believe me. I bark out a choked laugh and wince as my ribs protest. I step around him and take the stairs two at a time. I’m breathing hard when I reach the top, and I lay my arms against the railing until I catch my breath.

  Downstairs the murmur of voices captures my attention, and I strain to hear the conversation. A thump from down the hall turns me in that direction. I pause for a minute. I listen but don’t hear anything else. Probably my imagination on overtime. I start toward the bathroom. The thud from Lainey’s room is louder this time. A rush of excitement floods through my body, clearing the fog from my mind.

  I run to fling open her door. It bounces against the wall and rebounds closed. I stop it an inch from smacking my face. The image of her empty bedroom is branded in my mind. Without opening the door, I imagine her lavender and white bedspread and fluffy pillows on her made bed. The spotless floor and organized dresser. What the hell?

  “Landry?”

  I spin, falling back against the wall. My heart almost explodes out of my chest. “Don’t sneak up on me.”

  George’s voice is gentle, like he’s trying to talk a guy off a high-rise ledge. “Does he think I’ll jump?”

  “I don’t think you’re gonna kill yourself,” he says.

  Oh, jeez, I asked the question out loud. “I’m not crazy.”

  “You’re in shock. It’s normal given the circumstances. Why don’t you go downstairs and sit with your mom?”

  “I heard someone walking around in Lainey’s room. What if she came home while we were talking?”

  George reaches around me and opens the door.

  “See,” I say, pointing at the bed. “Her room’s usually a mess. It drives Mom crazy. They’re always fighting about her making her bed and picking up her clothes.”

  His sharp gaze travels around the room, settling on each piece of furniture for a second before moving on as if cataloging the contents for future reference. Once done, he looks back at me. “Maybe she didn’t want to leave behind a dirty room and cleaned up before going out.”

  I snort. Obviously he doesn’t know Lainey as well as he thinks he does. “Why would she? She thinks making her bed’s a waste of time since she’ll have to get back in it again later. Plus her cleaning would make Mom happy. Lainey never does anything for anyone but herself.”

  George nods as if what I said makes perfect sense. He waves his hand. “Can I look around? Maybe she left a note.”

  “Sure, go ahead. Check the closet to make sure she’s not hiding in there.” I sit on her bed. I’ve been banned from coming into her bedroom for years. Lainey had been pissed at how girly Mom decorated it, but after she grew out of her tomboy stage, she came to love it. It’ll serve my big sis right having her ex-boyfriend pawing through her private stuff after pulling a stunt like this. For a minute, I really thought she’d died.

  George starts riffling through her desk drawers. He glances over his shoulder at me with a frown. “You doing okay now?”

  I laugh. “Yeah, sorry. I guess I lost it for a minute. What made you think Lainey was dead anyway?”

  “Are you saying you think she’s alive?” He turns slowly. “I thought you understood what I was telling you earlier.”

  “You think she’s dead, but she’s not. I swear.” I hold up my hand. “Scout’s honor. Lainey ran off with her new beau. She’s been sneaking out with him for about eight or nine months.”

  God, the look in George’s eyes.

  I lift my head to stare at the ceiling. The blood coursing through my body pulses in my ears. His voice comes as a muffled shushing. “Landry, I’m sorry. I thought you heard the sheriff tell your mom…”

  I wish I couldn’t hear at all.

  “We found Lainey.” George stands over the bed. He wants to be sure I hear him this time. That I don’t mistake the words coming out of his mouth. He’s gonna force me to face the truth whether I want to or not. No more living in denial. No more pretending. No more hope.

  I breathe out the words, “Found her where?”

  “Her body was found floating in Bayou St. Louis. She’s dead, Landry. Dr. Rathbone plans to conduct an autopsy later today to determine the cause of death.”

  I’m not sure when the tears start to fall. My face feels numb. I watch them drop from my eyes to form a violet stain on my sister’s lavender bedspread. A thump comes from inside the closet. George walks over to open the door. Sasha looks up at him and hisses, then runs to hide under Lainey’s bed.

  “I need to get dressed.” I run for the bathroom.

  Everything moves in slow motion.

  My brain shuts off.

  I’m cool with the emptiness.

  I take a quick shower to get the chlorine off my skin and get dressed, but then I’m forced to crouch over the toilet, dry heaving. When I can stand, I splash my face with cool water. The Landry in the mirror looks like a zombie. Dark-rimmed, hollow gray eyes and wet black hair I don’t even bother combing. I remember to grab the first aid kit and walk downstairs.

  Sheriff Keyes stands by the front door with Mom. I thought he would’ve left by now. I’m glad he waited and didn’t leave Mom alone. She’s in bad shape. Now that my brain is partially functional again, I think I’d better take her to the ER so she can get stitches. I go to stand with them. Outside, George paces with jerky steps in front of the patrol car with one hand pressed against his shoulder mike.

  Sheriff Keyes pats my shoulder. “I’m sorry, son. I wish I could stay until your dad arrives, but there’s been another development in the case. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  I nod and wrap my arm around Mom’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

  Sheriff Keyes walks down the sidewalk and meets up with George. They speak in low voices as they move with measured but urgent strides to climb into the car. The patrol car’s engine revs then peels out with squealing tires and sirens blaring.

  We stand in the doorway in silence for I don’t know how long. Mom and I are lost in our own worlds until they collide. She twists out of my arms, and I let them fall to my sides. My shoulders slump, a heavy weight presses down on them. The sudden urge to punch a hole in the wall has me balling my hands into useless fists.

  Mom’s gaze flickers downward, and I shove my hands into my pockets. “Do you want breakfast?” she asks, heading toward the kitchen, not waiting for my answer.

  I chase after her. She moves fast. It doesn’t seem like her injury even hurts. Then I notice she walks with a slight limp, not putting all of her weight down on her foot. She bustles around the kitchen, leaving bloody footprints on the tile with each step. She pulls out packages of bacon and eggs from the refrigerator then slams the door. The expression on her face terrifies me. She’s totally blank.

  “Mom, why don’t you take a sleeping pill and rest? I’ll cook up something for you.”

  “Don’t patronize me,” she says serenely. Too calm to be real.

  I swallow hard. Maybe I should take a sleeping pill instead. Wake up once this nightmare is over. Except it never will be. I’ll replay this moment over and over for the rest of my life. The day my sister died.

  “When is Dad coming home?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did Sheriff Keyes call him?”

  She lays strips of bacon into the skillet. Her eyes meet mine. “Mind your own business, Landry. What were you and Clarice doing in the hot tub?”

  Old eagle eyes. So scary. I hide my shiver by sitting on a stool. The counter hides my hands as I rub the goose bumps rising on my arms. “I bruised my ribs while weight training. Clarice saw what happened and came over to see if I was okay.”

  Mom nods. “She’s a nice Christian girl.”

  Nice, right. I almost choke. Lainey would’ve busted up if she heard Mom say that. She hates…hated Clarice with a passion. She called Clarice a hypocrite. “Sweet on the outside, Satan’s
handmaiden on the inside.” They had a lot in common.

  No. I can’t think of Lainey like that anymore. She’s dead.

  Mom’s focus returns to cooking breakfast. I’m not sure what to say to her. Should I try to get her to talk about what happened? I need Dad. He’ll know what to say…to do next. Do I need to call the funeral home? Schedule a service? How long do we have to get everything ready? I have to tell him what happened so he can come home. He’s only an hour away, but it feels like he’s clear across the country. I creep out of the kitchen. My cell phone sits on the table by the door, and I punch in Dad’s number. It only rings once before he picks up.

  “What’s going on, Landry?”

  He’s psychic like that. He can always sense when something’s wrong.

  “Dad—” My voice cracks, and the line goes silent. How do I put what happened into words? I try again. “Dad, you’ve got to come home. It’s Lainey—”

  Mom’s fingernail scratches my cheek when she snatches my cell out of my hand. I press my palm against my stinging face. She throws the phone at the wall, then spins.

  “Don’t tell him a bunch of lies over the phone!” she shrieks, shoving me into the wall when I try to pick up the cell phone.

  “Stop!” I yell, pushing her off. I barely touch her, but even laying hands on her that much sends a wave of guilt rushing through me. I pick the phone up. It’s dead. Crap! Did Dad hear?

  Mom grabs my shirt in her balled-up fists. This time I don’t fight her. She’s so tiny; she’s like a sparrow pecking at a raven. “Sheriff Keyes, he’s an idiot. You know that. Right, son? He’s never been the sharpest tool in the shed. Not even in high school.” She laughs, wrapping her arms around my waist and pressing her face into my shirt.

  I hug her back. Her body trembles. She looks up at me with tears darkening her blue eyes. They look so much like Lainey’s that my stomach twists.

  Mom gives me a watery smile. “Don’t worry.” She pats my cheek. “Sheriff Keyes made a mistake. I know you feel it too. It’s not our Lainey’s body. There’s no way. It’s someone else.”

  I want to believe Mom. Maybe they did misidentify her. Who knows Lainey well enough to be one hundred percent positive except family?

  “George said it’s Lainey,” I say reluctantly. “He seemed pretty sure, and even if he made a mistake like that, the sheriff wouldn’t back him on it. They said they took her to the coroner’s office. Uncle Jay plans to do an autopsy.”

  Mom sucks in a breath. Her wild eyes send me stumbling back. “I don’t believe it. They have the wrong body. I’ll prove it. We’ll go see for ourselves. I’ll prove they’re wrong. It’s not Lainey.”

  Chapter 6

  Mala

  Soul Sucked

  My eyes feel sticky and dry and my vision hazy when I force open my eyelids. A slick, burnished brown cockroach the size of a half dollar crawls out of a crack in the wall and skitters across the underside of rusted pipes leading into the sink. I hate roaches. I can handle near ’bout every other critter found in the swamp, but roaches in my house turn me homicidal.

  I stare at the hole it exited, planning to get the insecticide as soon as I figure out why I’m lying on the floor in the first place. More antennae wave at me from the mouth of the crack. A slender roach crawls out. Another follows behind, and another. The bodies scramble free in a flood of wiggling legs, scurrying down the walls directly toward my open mouth.

  With a squeak of panic, I roll backward and bump into the legs of an African American soldier in tight green Vietnam-era camouflage BDUs. The man crouches beside me, fiddling with the bathroom door. I rise up onto an elbow, trying to see. He keeps shifting his heavy body into my line of sight to block his actions from me. I swing a fist at his thigh. It passes right through and out the other side.

  I exhale the prayer in one breath. “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for this sinner, now and at the hour of my death, amen.”

  The helmeted head turns at my words. Hooded eyes, pitiless orbs of darkness, connect with mine. The intensity reflected within the ebony gaze mesmerizes me like a snake charmer entrances a cobra. And I learn how helpless the snake must feel, dancing to someone else’s tune. Helpless.

  Then he blinks and sets me free. “Ready?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “For what?”

  He points to the door, and the C4 molded into the lock. “Fire in the hole,” he yells, with a grin that stretches his face like rubber. He raises the detonator and presses the button.

  The wave of flame engulfs his body, ripping him to pieces.

  “No!” I scream. My arms wrap around my head to protect it from the chunks of meat and blood raining down on me. Cold rather than heat sucks the air from my lungs.

  A deafening crash fills the room. My eyes pop open. The door vibrates and then swings wide with so much force the knob breaks a chunk of plaster out of the wall. I draw my knees up and fumble to pull the bath towel higher, but it’s too late.

  George strides into the bathroom with a look on his face that I’ve never seen before. Worry wars with fear. Then, when his eyes fall on me, they widen. “Oh, baby girl,” he whispers so softly that I barely hear the endearment.

  He bends down and scoops me up like I weigh no more than a child. The top of my head fits perfectly beneath his chin. I press my ear against his chest. His heart races. The arms wrapped around my body squeeze me so tight I can barely breathe.

  I shiver, gripping the towel against my breasts.

  Mama hovers at his side. Her face has drained of color. Black lines from her mascara run down her cheeks. “Is she okay?”

  “Ms. Jasmine, I need you to move back a bit.”

  “What? Oh, sorry.” Mama stumbles back into the bedroom, twisting her hands together. “Is that blood on her head?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” George lays me on the bed, pulls the blanket up to my chin, and tucks the edges under me so tight I can’t move my arms. “Where’s your medical supplies?”

  Mama shakes her head.

  George’s mouth turns down at the corners. “She’s freezing, probably in shock. Keep her covered while I get my first aid kit.” He pats my leg. “Will you be okay while I’m gone?”

  I lick my lips then whisper, “I’ll be fine.”

  George hesitates. Indecision flickers across his face. I think he debates picking me up again and carrying me out to his car rather than leaving me alone in Mama’s not-so-tender loving care. Finally, he mutters something about remembering to restock his medical supplies and leaves the room. My heart crawls after him.

  “I need some water,” I say.

  “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.” Mama runs from the room, and I gape after her in shock. She’s never moved so fast to attend to me. Not even when I got pneumonia as a child and had been admitted to the hospital. She made me buzz a nurse whenever I needed a drink or help to the bathroom.

  She returns in less than a minute holding out a glass of water. “Here, drink it fast.”

  I take a large gulp, swallow half, and spit the rest across the bed, choking. “It’s vodka!”

  “Shh, of course,” Mama cries, glancing nervously toward the door. “That’s why I said drink it fast. I don’t want to get arrested for contributin’ to the delinquency of a minor. Lord knows, I’m sick of goin’ to jail for stupid shit.”

  Tears sting my eyes, and my throat burns from the alcohol. “That’s nasty. How can you drink it?”

  “Tastes better with cranberry juice, but we don’t have none. Feel better now? Warmer?”

  “Yeah,” I drawl. “How’d you know it’d work?”

  “Works for me in these situations.” She sits on the edge of the bed. “Drink up. I hear Georgie’s big ol’ feet crunching in the gravel. He’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

  Frowning, I rub my eyes. My vision looks filmy, and my thoughts are sluggish. “Mama, what’s he doing here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why’s he in the house?”
<
br />   She takes the glass from my hand then sticks her face close to mine, staring into my eyes. “Are you serious?”

  I lift the blanket up and glance under the covers. Yep, it’s worse than I thought. The towel lies at the foot of the bed. “Oh, hell, he saw me stark naked,” I choke. “How can I ever look him straight in the eyes again?”

  “Did that knock to your head scramble your brain? Embarrassment is the least of your worries. Rather than bein’ angry, you should be thankin’ me for gettin’ Georgie to break open that door.”

  “But why, Mama? Last thing I remember, I’m taking a shower, and the next, Georgie’s bursting into the bathroom.” I wrap the blanket around my nakedness and roll from the bed. “I don’t want him seeing me like this again. Don’t let him come in until I’m dressed.” I stagger toward the bathroom.

  “Mala, don’t you dare go back—”

  I slam the door and lean against it to catch my breath from the dizziness that makes the room swim.

  Mama’s voice moves into the hall, and I hear the rumbled bass of Georgie’s answer. They argue, too low for me to make out distinct words. Finally, another knock sounds on the door, and I open it wide enough to take the first aid kit from Mama, ignoring her protests, and close the door again. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, horrified. A trickle of blood has dried on the side of my face, and I wash it off. The shallow cut on my temple’s all bark and no bite. It’ll swell up into a formidable knot, but I can hide it beneath my hair.

  “Pathetic. I look like I got dragged through the mud behind a pickup.” And George saw me looking like this, ugh.

  Since I don’t have time to blow dry my hair, I towel dry it and put in some anti-frizz goop to deal with the muggy air. I even put on makeup and have to admit that while I usually don’t pay a whole lot of attention to my appearance, I clean up well. I look polished and mature—maybe even beautiful in a Jessica Szohr kind of way once I slip into the low-cut, vibrant purple dress I’d hung over the shower bar to steam out the wrinkles, and sling-back heels.

  Mama knocks on the door. “Bessie says it’s time to go.”